konstant | . .. IC Contact

Vrenille. K hasn't forgotten, of course - it's a full half of the reason they're even having a conversation, that K hung around this long to have it - but he frowns faintly for a moment.

Then he nods again.

He nods, too, and steps away, goes and sits back down. "Are you okay?"

Mango, still trying to reach Nibbles through the door, finally barks sharply for the first time and K says her name, not sharp but firm. She drops to her stomach on the stairs, still with her nose pressed against the door, but doesn't bark again.

"What's okay?" he asks Jesus, sounding resigned, but he moves over to the chair he would have sat in if they'd just eaten instead, unfolding his arms so his hands are resting on the back of it. "I've just never... done any of this."

"I know." He's never done a lot of things with other people, least of all those who care about him.

"If it helps, your doing everything right."

It does help, he finds. The subject of trust is difficult and complex, and he's still learning where it holds strong and where it falls through regardless, but following Jesus's lead has been a good decision so far. It means he can accept the assurance from him now and whatever part of him looks to others for guidance can hear it. Can believe it.

He breathes a moment, testing that it will hold, and finally his lips quirk faintly when he looks up to meet Jesus's eyes.

"It does. I trust you." Jesus is doing things right, too.

He exhales a bit of tension and nods. Okay, good.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. But I'd like it if you stayed. If you want. The food really isn't that bad if you're hungry."

"The food smells great," he says, and it's not anything fancy, others might think K was being facetious, but he means it. It's a wonder for Jesus to have fresh vegetables in winter. It's a wonder for K to have vegetables, pasta, and water at all, and he's mindful of that always.

He sits down and pulls his own plate closer, but doesn't pick up his fork yet.

"I have something I should have told you sooner too."

He eats, if only to show K that it's okay now, the tension has passed. It's safe to eat.

"What is it?"

It's safe to eat and K is already shifting a piece of broccoli with his fingers like he typically does when investigating new foods or new versions of food, but he doesn't take any bites.

"Do you remember me mentioning deactivation as a means to control some models of replicant?"

"Yes," he says, frowning, already not liking where this is going.

"It worked in the 6s, but only a fraction of them went rogue, and the rest had to be replaced for doing nothing wrong. Customers weren't happy and it's part of why Tyrell went bankrupt."

He picks up a piece of broccoli and takes his time chewing it, not even concerned that it's mostly cold by this point.

"That and because... Wallace is Wallace," and all that entails, "They left the lifespan open ended with the 8s, and that caused all kinds of problems. The majority of the replicants I retired were 8s. So... For the 9s, they left it open to client preference. Whether there's a deactivation timeline or not."

"And I'm guessing they didn't tell the 9's if there was or not." Knowing you're going to die by a certain time makes people desperate.

He swallows, some of him switching over to the parts of him that have watched people die for years.

"Did they tell you if you have one?"

"Client preference," K answers, and does not let himself look down, does not let himself look away from how he can watch pieces of Jesus disappear from his expression.

"And no, they didn't."

"Then we won't know unless one day you just stop." It could be today.

He doesn't look away but he can feel how deeply K is looking at him and he reaches a hand for him, almost without thinking.

K hadn't been sure what he would do if Jesus reached for him earlier; now, though, it's simple. He catches up the other man's hand in his own, slides their fingers together.

He said we don't know. "There are guidelines. It won't be just one day - it's always on the manufacture date. And there are popular cycles - four years, six years, eight, twelve."

It doesn't disqualify the other years, but it helps.

He brings K's hand up to his lips, beard just brushing his knuckles. Thinking, thinking, then looking up at him again.

"So when would it be?"

Maybe it would be easier if it could just be any day; like a real girl, Joi had said, and that would be true, wouldn't it? Things happen and humans die unexpectedly all the time.

But not replicants. "My manufacture date is December 25th," he answers, rubbing the tip of his thumb over Jesus's knuckles.

"You didn't tell me that when you came to see me Christmas day," he says, hearing the deep hurt in his own voice, surprised and embarrassed by how cut he sounds.

"No, I didn't." He's not proud of it, but he won't deny that he knew better by then, either. The reasons all sound flimsy against the pain he can read as plainly as hear.

"I'm sorry. It didn't even occur to me before, and after - it was past. Nothing happened this year, so I thought... we have another year before it comes up again. We have time."

He pulls his hand away and moves away from the table, to sit on the stairs instead.

Nibbles bats at his hair and he cracks a smile, weak as it is.

"Okay." A year is more than he could hope for back home. So he draws himself back together. K didn't tell him. K could have gone home that night and died and he hadn't told Jesus but that's in the past now.

Quit and keep moving forward, as they say.

"Okay. We have a year. I'm glad we do."

K doesn't try to hold onto him, but he does turn in his chair to be able to keep watching him, hands in his lap now. Mango is delighted that Jesus comes down to her level, too, and she's temporarily distracted from the cat enough to sidle up to Jesus's side.

"I am too," K offers, but it doesn't feel like enough. Normally he wouldn't try to convince anyone of anything, wouldn't keep talking, but this is Jesus. Maybe his logic doesn't make that much sense after all, but he has to try. "This was year seven for me, and I didn't really think anything would happen - and I don't know what would happen here anyway. Not in a place where we come back." That's not why though.

"Sara started avoiding me based on the idea that I might go missing someday. I was... afraid of what would happen if anyone here learned it as a real possibility." He still is, but he stays in his seat, offers none of the more desperate things he wants to say, how he wants to say them.

"I wouldn't avoid you for that," he promises, soft, earnest. "I just hate the thought that you were alone for that. Knowing it might happen."

He stands again, this time carrying Mango, and sits on the sofa. Again he offers his hand to K.

Mango, excited for attention, immediately licks at Jesus's face, chin, and neck; she's quick to burrow in against his side again, curling up next to his ribs.

K shakes his head as he stands. "That's how it's always been for me," he tries to assure him, settling down again beside him. "I didn't want anyone to have to... deal with that."

"I'm good at dealing with death." He leans against K when he sits, the same way almost that Mango is leaning against him.

"It's a sign of love where I'm from, to be with someone as they die. To help make it easier for them."

"I'm sorry," he says again, not a repetition exactly, but with more understanding. He lifts his arm out of the way, making room for Jesus to sit closer if he wants to after all.

"No one has cared the rest of my life, except Joi. It just didn't... I'm still learning the ways things are different here, where I'm the first replicant."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

My phone doesn't like the word bitching apparently

We knew what it was. ~ R. Espinosa

no subject

no subject